


cigarette burns, laugh lines, wide dimples

by motheyes



Series: apotheosis 'verse [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Panic Attacks, Scars, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, au where l'manburg blows up at the festival, but tubbo has scars from the explosion, i don't know if theres a tag for it, mild but enough to be warned for, more to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28257081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motheyes/pseuds/motheyes
Summary: “If everything goes wrong, we run. Together.”(Everything goes wrong.)(or: Tommy and Tubbo can't see any better option than to leave.)
Relationships: More to be added - Relationship, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: apotheosis 'verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973764
Comments: 9
Kudos: 88





	cigarette burns, laugh lines, wide dimples

**Author's Note:**

> usual disclaimer: this is about the characters from the roleplay on the smp, not about the actual people!! if i learn this violates boundaries it's getting yeeted. also, this is HELLA canon divergent. i would absolutely recommend reading the other fics in this series, but basically, this is an au where wilbur blows up l'manburg on the day of the festival. (i create my own angst to ignore canon, yes.)
> 
> also, if you ship tommy and tubbo, no <3\. this is STRICTLY platonic ty ty
> 
> title is from "...well, better than the alternative" by will wood and the tapeworms. banger song.
> 
> ive been really excited to get to this part... :0 i hope it comes out well, and i hope you enjoy it !! <3

“If everything goes wrong, we run. Together.”

A jukebox sings softly in the background, lulling the sun to sleep.

Tubbo turns to look at Tommy, whose face is half cast in shadows, whose blonde hair is highlighted in the dying light. Their eyes meet. Tubbo nods.

“Together.”

Before them, the wilderness stretches on as far as the eye can see, trees standing tall and calm and wild. Behind them, all of civilization rests uneasily.

Soon, the music disc will play its final notes and it will be locked away in the enderchest again. Soon, Tommy will go back to Wilbur, and Tubbo will go back to Schlatt, and they will be enemies again. For now, though, they sit on their wooden bench and they listen to Mellohi.

* * *

The festival grounds are beautiful from where Tubbo stands at the top of the stage. The wool banners and decorations are dyed in soft yet vibrant colors, the beacon by the ice skating rink beams into the sky and parts the clouds, the audience seating below is neat yet homely, in a way.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, and he can feel his palms sweating. His communicator buzzes in his pocket, and it throws him off for just a moment before he gathers himself again. “Y’know, a wise man once told me…”

His speech is practically muscle memory, at this point, after the hours he’s spent practicing it in front of the mirror. That practice has paid off - a dozen hopeful faces look up at him, and Tubbo realizes they’re hanging on his every word.

He lets loose a little smile, as he continues to talk. He forces his shoulders to relax.

As he presses on, Schlatt’s presence seems to melt away, and all that’s left is Tubbo and the people below him and the softly-lit festival grounds.

Despite himself, despite the flashes of red and white over the hill that Tubbo refuses to see, he’s proud of his work. He’s proud of Fundy and Karl and Quackity’s work. 

(For a second, he can forget the bombs planted deep under the ground.)

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming to this wonderful event,” he says, and he finds he means it. He finds he’s meant it all. His speech, that is - maybe not the words themselves, maybe not the offhand compliments thrown Schlatt’s way, but the overall tone of it, the overall message of unity and pride… well, he can get behind that.

Tubbo beams down at L’Manburg, and L’Manburg beams back. His heart swells with pride.

His comm buzzes again. It can wait; he starts to take his bow.

The world goes black.

* * *

He’s moving. The air is thick, his thoughts sluggish.

_What’s happened?_

His voice won’t work.

* * *

“...bo?”

The world is muffled around him, like he’s six feet underwater. His eyes crack open, just the slightest bit, but the light sends a stabbing pain through his skull, and he squeezes them shut again.

“Tubbo? You awake?”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t think he could muster the energy to do so if he tried. _Is that Tommy?_ he thinks, drearily. _God, my head hurts._

Unconsciousness calls his name, and he drifts off again.

* * *

Tubbo’s laying on something soft. It smells of sheep’s wool and campfire smoke and something that he can’t place but that is distinctly comforting and familiar all the same. He digs his face further into it, content to doze happily for a few seconds.

 _Where am I,_ he wonders distantly, cracking his eyes open. Spruce trees stretch into the sky all around him.

And that, that’s when he registers the stabbing pain on the right side of his face, that’s when he feels the bone-deep ache in his body, that’s when he remembers the explosions that must have thrown him tens of feet from where he had been standing.

He flies upright, chest heaving. The question of where he is isn’t casual, anymore; now it presses into his skull, urges him to figure it out _now_. His head spins, black spots dotting his vision, and he frantically tries to blink them away.

“Tubbo!” someone calls, their voice muffled, and then there’s a hand on his shoulder. Reflexively, he flinches away from the touch, shoulders tensing.

“Tubbo,” the voice says again, sounding worried. His vision finally clears enough for him to look up at the person who’s standing over him. It takes him a second to register who it is through the fog of panic, but when he does, he relaxes immediately.

“Tommy,” he responds, blinking. Something’s off about his vision, making his head hurt even more as he tries to process it. Tommy smiles back down at him wearily.

“Heya, Big T.”

And then, before Tubbo knows it, he’s wrapped in Tommy’s arms, Tommy’s chin resting on his head. The angle is weird, and awkward - Tubbo’s still half-laying down, and Tommy’s kneeling above him - but Tubbo doesn’t mind.

This is the first time he’s seen Tommy in weeks, he realizes, nose buried in the crook of his best friend’s neck. Tubbo had been busy with the - the festival, and Tommy had been just as busy.

Tommy pulls back, leaving his hands resting on Tubbo’s shoulder. “You alright?”

Tubbo nods, although it’s more instinctive than anything else. It’s only after he’s responded that he actually pauses to consider how he feels, taking a mental inventory of every part of his body.

His head hurts. That’s the big thing, that’s what has left him groggy and confused, brain lagging several seconds behind the rest of him. His ribs hurt, too, a dull ache in his chest. Sharper pain comes from his left arm, which lies limp at his side, sending a stabbing sensation up through his shoulder and collarbone. He glances at it. It’s not visibly broken.

So, all of that’s fine. He can manage it.

What he can’t manage is the weird floatiness that lingers in his vision. He’s realized why it’s like that, now; the entire left side of his vision doesn’t seem to be cooperating with him. It’s not entirely gone, but it’s weird and fuzzy and blurry and he can barely make anything out when he shuts his right eye to test it. He’d had to turn his entire head to look down at his arm.

Faintly, he’s aware of Tommy rambling on about something in the background.

Tubbo reaches up to rub at his eye. His left hand is shoddily bandaged, he notices, clearly done in a hurry.

He winces when his fingers meet his cheek, the skin there raw and painful.

“Woah, careful, big man,” Tommy says, gently taking his hand away from his face. “Don’t wanna hurt yourself.”

“Tommy?” Tubbo says, voice flat and even. He’s only dimly aware of the way his breathing hitches in his throat. “Tommy, I can’t see out of my left eye.”

The last thing Tubbo sees before the rest of his vision blurs is Tommy’s face, twisting into a resigned frown that’s somewhere in-between pity and regret.

A tear falls down Tubbo’s right cheek. It’s not alone for long, followed by what must be a hundred more of its brethren. He chokes in a breath and chokes out a sob, and he realizes that he can’t _hear_ on his left side either, and his breathing catches up and his hands shake, and he can’t see at _all_ anymore, not through the tears -

And then Tommy pulls him back into the hug.

“C’mon, Tubbo, breathe,” he says, right into Tubbo’s right ear. It’s audible, but it still takes Tubbo far too long to register what Tommy’s saying through the fog of panic that’s settled over his mind. 

Tubbo nods and forces himself to listen in on Tommy’s heart and lungs, forces himself to breathe in tandem with his best friend. His chest still shakes, and he still stutters on the exhales, but slowly, ever so slowly, he calms down.

Prime, he’s only just woken up and he’s already so _tired_.

“What the hell happened, big man?” Tubbo asks, voice hoarse from crying. Tommy stiffens.

“Well…” he says in response, and Tubbo does not like that tone of voice. “What do you remember?”

Tubbo frowns, thinking. “I remember my speech,” he starts. “I’d just finished talking, and I was bowing and shit. Schlatt seemed… proud.” He blinks, and his headache increases tenfold as he tries his best to _remember_.

It doesn’t work. 

“Everything else after that is just… nothing,” he says, giving up and ducking his head. Tommy sighs; Tubbo feels it more than he hears it.

“It’s… not great, back there,” Tommy tells him, and then he hacks out a dry, sad laugh. “That’s a fuckin’ understatement. It’s - it’s all gone, Tubbo.”

Tubbo’s mouth goes dry - well, drier than it already was. “...Wilbur did it, then?” he asks, not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.

“Yeah,” Tommy breathes, barely audible. He sounds like he’s about to start crying.

Finally, Tubbo musters the energy to lift his arms and fully hug his best friend back. His left arm clenches, sore, as he wraps his arms around Tommy’s shoulders, but he ignores it.

It’s - Tubbo can’t wrap his mind around it. He’d just been there, on stage, he’d just been looking down over the entirety of L’Manburg, and now…

Now, it’s gone, probably nothing more than a crater in the ground. _Probably_ , because _Tubbo can’t even see it for himself._

Tubbo stares up into the sky with his one working eye, and there’s a damp spot on his shoulder and an ache in his bones, and everything he knows is gone.


End file.
